That is until you have to wait
For repairs
Sitting close to my fake electric flames
I have one necessary aim
Getting warm
It seems the heater that provides warmth
To fend off the cold from the north
Is broken
A week ago when it was warmer
Put in a request to fix the former
Nothing done
If barbecues were allowed
Or even candles, I’m not proud
Could use them
Alas, no news when it will be repaired
And I have no long haired
Furry companion
With whom to share
A blanket, flared
Watching the snow fall
In a moonlit glare
No icicles yet formed
On my hair
At least it’s a comfy chair
And soon I’ll repair
To my bedroom lair
And hope it’s fixed tomorrow.
***
Sunday Confessionals – Self-portrait
The Bag Lady 
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